The Kingdom Was Lost
by Katie Havok
Summary: He watches Tina from across the room. She is positively radiant in her joy, and it isn't until Queenie meets his eyes sometime later, hers filled with empathy and quiet understanding, that he realizes the roaring in his ears is the sound of his heart breaking. Or: the Newt/Queenie story that nobody asked for, but I wrote anyways.


In the end, Newt supposes it's his own damn fault.

He'd come back and delivered his book, as promised. Tina had accepted it with delight, and shyly taken his arm on the way back to the brownstone. Over the months, as he came and went, he allowed himself to believe that she was _interested_ , that there was more than _friendship_ in her heart.

Then Theseus had come to New York to liaise with MACUSA, and somehow Tina and he had met, and the sparkle in her eye when she returned to the brownstone was not for him. It quickly became apparent to Newt that whatever Tina had initially felt was waning, and fast—so it was truly no surprise when, a few months later, Tina announced that Theseus had asked her to accompany him to dinner and dancing without the excuse of work-related commitments.

He watches Tina from across the room. She is positively radiant in her joy, and it isn't until Queenie meets his eyes sometime later, hers filled with empathy and quiet understanding, that he realizes the roaring in his ears is the sound of his heart breaking.

* * *

He tells himself he doesn't love her. That he isn't even really _in love_ with her. Oh, he had recognized her potential, _their_ potential—but he had hesitated, and that was the lethal blow.

Tina dresses for the date in That Dress, the one that had enraptured him so long ago. Her hair, longer now, falls in glossy waves around her delicate features. Her eyes are wide and dark, her nose powdered to perfection, her lips red, red, _red_. She and Queenie share a hug at the door before she is swept away, and Newt tries very hard not to be hurt when she doesn't even turn to him in acknowledgment of his murmured farewell.

He fails, and a hollow ache has taken permanent residence beneath his ribs, where his heart used to be.

Queenie watches the door for a long moment before clucking her tongue. She crosses the room to pull him into a powder-scented hug. Newt's _exhausted_ with the strain of hiding himself from them both, so he sags into her welcome embrace. He even finds it in himself to return it, probably tighter and more desperate than she'd like—but he can't bring himself to _care_. She murmurs while rubbing soothing circles into his back, and they both pretend that he isn't crying when she pulls back.

"We'll go see Jacob tomorrow," she says brightly. "I've been in there a few times, and I know he's beginning to remember me. I'm sure he'll remember you. Will that cheer ya up, Newt?"

He thinks that it might, at least a little, so he agrees to accompany her. She releases a delighted ripple of laughter while bustling into the kitchen, and he's only too happy to sink onto the couch and spend a quiet evening with her as they wait for Tina.

* * *

The following evening sees the tables turned. Newt's hanky has long since turned sodden as he and Tina try helplessly to calm a distraught Queenie. He understands the enormity of what she's feeling—and evidence of that sits opposite him on the couch, doing her best to appreciate the perspective of her fair-haired sister through the glow of her own selfish joy.

"It's not like you could _be_ with him," Tina finally huffs in exasperation, and Newt can no longer hide his own regret and disappointment. He meets her eyes steadily. Tina turns on him, but he is relieved because that means Queenie no longer has to bear the brunt of her unwillingness to understand.

Tina eventually stomps away in annoyance, growling under her breath about "thick men" and "leading people on" and "Mercy Lewis, it's the _law_ , it's not like we haven't lived with it all our lives!"

Newt glowers at her retreating back, allowing himself a moment of pettiness even after her door has slammed between them. He turns back to Queenie to pull her into his arms, and doesn't try to evade the tentative brush of her Legilimency in his mind. His compassion and empathy are there, right in the forefront of his feelings, and he knows she will see the truth in them.

"You're sweet," she sniffs, and when she tenderly kisses the corner of his mouth, neither one of them are really surprised by it.

* * *

Newt comes to New York to see Queenie now, or so he tells himself. He watches with mingled joy and pain as Tina grows happier by the day, blossoming into the full feminine potential he had so longed to inspire for himself. Her sister, by contrast, seems to draw inward and wilt, until even her hair begins to lose vibrancy and her smile is a pale imitation of its former radiance.

"He's gonna marry Mildred," Queenie finally sniffs one evening after the fire's burned low. Newt marks his place and sets his book aside before turning to her. He takes her hands and she clutches at him, violet eyes swimming with tears. "He's gonna be happy. He _is_ happy, and he ain't gonna remember anything else about me."

The water in her eyes trembles and overflows and Newt thinks nothing of it when he folds her into his embrace. "I know," he murmurs as soothingly as he can. He feels helpless against the burden of their shared pain, so he holds her slight weight close while comfortingly stroking her back and shoulders until her tears have dried and she is composed.

"You're a good man, Newt Scamander," Queenie eventually whispers into the skin covering his neck. He angles his chin down to look at her, finding her eyes wide and very, very blue. Her gaze falls to his mouth, and he moistens his lips nervously when she leans forward to bridge the gap between them.

Some detached part of him thinks that kissing her should feel wrong—up until fairly recently, their affections have been almost sibling in nature. Yet there is nothing familial in this kiss, and what started as a thing of comfort and mutual understanding quickly expands to become something _more_.

They separate with a gasp when he shakily presses his face into her fair hair. She smells of peaches and spun sugar, the waxy-dry flavor of her lipstick coating his tongue, and he closes his eyes to breath it in. "We shouldn't," he murmurs as confused lust roils in his belly, Tina's face _haunting_ him until Queenie shakes her head.

"We _should_ ," she argues in a low, sharp voice, and Newt looks at her to find Jacob's countenance shadowing her eyes. She stares at him levelly—kiss-plumped lips swollen and nude, curls mussed from his restless fingers—and Newt is unable to think of an adequate argument.

He ducks his head and, nervous fingers tangled with hers, leads her into the bedroom.

* * *

Her sheets smell like her. Here in her arms, surrounded by her scent, his shields come down.

Queenie rakes her French manicure over his skin, pressing just this side of too-hard as she coos over the remnants of conflicts old and new. She traces his freckles and murmurs lovingly into his hair when he lathers her with kisses, before dragging the tips of her delicate fingers over his spine.

Newt tastes her skin—peaches and cream, salt and sweat—to memorize her sweetness before sampling the flavor that lives between her thighs. Queenie moans and arches appreciatively before hauling him back up, and he licks her off his lips when she clutches his shoulders to urge him home.

She coats him like fine, exotic oil as they move together. Newt presses his face into the crook of her neck, one hand anchored to her slim hip, the other tangled in her hair as she gasps and murmurs gentle encouragements. There's no tell-tale buzz of her abilities in his mind, and the awareness that she _trusts him_ in the having of her coils through him like smoke.

He teases a sweetly musical crescendo out of her before following with a growl, her name hot on his tongue as he spills over her stomach and hip. They stroke each other in the aftermath, and neither comment on the fact that they are unable to meet each other's eyes.

* * *

Tina announces her engagement two weeks later.

There's a challenge in her eyes when she seeks Newt out the following morning, but it isn't about her soon-to-be changing name. Instead, she has a more prosaic concern.

"What have you and Queenie been doing together?" She asks with forced casualness while he's still nodding over his tea. Newt comes awake all at once at her tone.

"I'm not sure that's entirely your business," he says as evenly as he can manage, taking in her puffy, too-pale face with unwilling concern, and Tina bristles.

"I wasn't willing to wait for you, so what—you get cozy with her to try and make _me_ jealous? Is that what it is?" Her tone is snide, bordering on cruel, and Newt curls his hands into fists without realizing it.

"No," he corrects hoarsely. "You decided my brother was more compatible with you, and she _cannot_ have her Jacob, so we've grown closer as a natural consequence." He relaxes his fingers with a conscious effort, refusing to drop his eyes as Tina's lips press into a pale gash. "It's not about the _having_ , anyways," he whispers, but she's already left the room.

Newt shoves his tea aside to bury his face in his hands.

* * *

The sisters argue over him, which is the last thing he wanted.

"He's leaving!" Tina seethes, and Newt wishes _desperately_ to know how he'd wronged her so he could correct it.

"He's staying!" Queenie rejoins heatedly, and the novelty of seeing her truly _angry_ quickly gives way to despair when they devolve into cutting remarks and slashing hand gestures. He inches closer to them, wand in hand while each barb hits home until the sisters wear identical fierce expressions.

"Don't you see that you're the second choice in this?" Tina finally rages and stabs an accusatory finger at Newt. "He wouldn't even tell me if he's been respecting you when I asked!"

"You don't get to question us like that," Queenie says in a deadly calm voice. "Not now. Newt's not responsible for your mistakes, and it's selfish of you to even consider asking him to be." She looks hard at Tina, and her sister's face drains of color, going from furious red to white in the space of a second.

Queenie's eyes flash angrily. "I suggest you let out your gown and move up the wedding date. Get married before anyone notices, if he wants to avoid a scandal," she bites out, and turns stiffly away when her Tina's dark eyes swell with tears and fall to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Tina chokes to her dusty brogues. Queenie flips a rude hand at her, so she shifts her attention to the only other occupant of the room, lifting imploring eyes to him. "Newt, I'm _sorry_ ," she breathes, and he looks away.

" _Don't_ ," he manages through his tear-thick throat and shows her his back. Queenie goes willingly into his embrace, and the door closes behind them with wordless finality.

* * *

Newt tells himself that he doesn't love her, that he's not even really _in love_ with her—but they make something very like it, there on her bed.

They do not stifle their desperate gasps and cries, well aware of the unwelcome voyeur just outside the door, and give to one another with the intensity of youth until the mattress groans defeat and they collapse into a sweaty, tangled pile. He magics away the evidence of their passion while peppering her delicate neck and chest with kisses, squeezing her dainty breast before pulling her into his arms.

"I don't think we should stay here anymore, honey," Queenie murmurs after a while. Newt he hums his agreement while closing his eyes. The unexpected taste of betrayal coats his throat, and he's no longer sure which Goldstein sister he's not in love with—but he knows he can't bear facing Tina any longer. Not when so much of him _still_ longs to help carry the burden of her mistakes.

"Tina knows better. I know she does. She just...got caught up," Queenie murmurs off of his thought, and he cracks an eye to look at her. She's watching him anxiously, plump bottom lip trapped between her teeth as he tries not to superimpose Tina's face over hers. Her eyes search his while he uses his thumb to gently free her lip. She kisses its calloused pad sweetly.

"It happens," he admits while stroking her coppery curls. "You know I've done what I can to prevent it, but if we should be similarly burdened..." Newt trails off into a pregnant pause, before taking a deep breath while Queenie holds hers. "I would be honored to do right by you, have no doubt." He allows the truth of that statement to float to the forefront of his mind and welcomes the brush of her magic as she pulls him close.

"You're a good man, Newt Scamander," she whispers against his hair. It's not the first time she's said it, and he knows it won't be the last despite his protestations, so he swallows down the old, familiar doubt that clogs his throat and nuzzles his face into her skin.

* * *

Newt finds the newspaper article announcing the nuptials of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Kowalski two days later, spread over the kitchen table in Tina's wake with a certain smug viciousness. It goes directly into the bin but he can't hide the knowing, and he holds Queenie helplessly as she sobs into his chest.

* * *

Tina and Theseus marry a month later.

The wedding is a strained affair, the bride looking pale and puffy and peaked, the groom tense and gloomy and silent. Queenie is radiant in her chiffon bridesmaid dress, but Newt doesn't even have the honors of the wedding party—there is still too much left unsaid between him and his brother for any beneficent gestures. Stiff cordiality is the best he can muster, and it costs him dearly.

He leaves as soon as is permissible, breathing a vast sigh of relief when he Apparates into the room of the boarding house he now uses when he's in the city. He knows Queenie will meet him there in time, so he busies himself with his case and his creatures, with cleaning and feeding and other mundane tasks until she can join him.

"I have the apartment to myself now," she says when their shoes are kicked off and they're curled together on his narrow bed. He hums while squeezing her thigh, and she fingers his collar before stroking the trailing edge of his bow-tie. "You could come stay with me again. Get outta this broken-down hole." She kissing the ledge of his jaw suggestively. "'Sides, my bed is a lot more comfortable."

"That, it is," he concurs musingly before rolling on top of her. He hovers on knees and elbows, kissing her tentatively to test his welcome. Queenie opens like a flower beneath him, receptive to his advances, and Newt is reminded that the dress is made more radiant for being placed upon _her_. She still tastes like peaches and cream, and he chases her flavor with his tongue before urging her to greater heights. She keens his name at the end, and he wraps around her while surrendering to her pull.

"Come back with me," she gasps against his mouth, and he agrees without comment.

* * *

Theseus and Tina Scamander welcome a baby boy in the spring. They name him Cilix, and if tongues wag about how _soon_ after their wedding the child is born, they are quickly put to rest with a quelling word or glare. Even Newt opens his mouth in their defense more than once, despite his sore heart, and the child ushers in a permanent truce between the sisters.

Queenie comes home one evening positively effervescent after a visit with Tina and her son, and Newt doesn't need her gifts to see the run of her thoughts.

"Would you like one of your own someday?" He asks idly after a dessert featuring his favorite lemon chiffon cake and pushes an image of the ring carefully stored in his vault to the forefront of his mind. Queenie bites her lip while reading him, carefully setting down her glass.

"I'd love one," she admits in a soft voice. "I always wanted a big family. But, honey..." She trails off, and Newt traces her knuckles with his thumb, expression politely curious. "You know I still love my Jacob," she finally allows. "That'll never stop."

He exhales shakily. "And you know that I...I love Tina," he manages in a low voice, the first time he's said it aloud. Queenie purses her lips and nods, and his thumb moves to brush her tears away. "I will never stop loving her, but if you can accept what's left of my heart, then I will happily live with whatever you are able to give me. Loving other people does not preclude the possibility of loving each other." He kisses her tenderly. "There is room enough in our hearts for both."

"That's very poetic," she breathes and manages a weak smile. "Are you sure?"

Newt sniffles and brushes his own tears away with a nod. "I have never been surer of anything in my life," he promises, and it's the truth.

* * *

Their wedding isn't a large affair.

Queenie wears airy pink taffeta, Newt a worsted suit of deepest charcoal. She delights that it brings out his eyes, and he huffs a laugh as they meet before the officiant. Theseus and Tina stand witness, their carriages stiff and uncomfortable as Queenie and Newt exchange earnest, tearful vows before sealing their union with a kiss.

The newly-minted couple waste little time with pleasantries after the vows are spoken, murmuring quiet thanks to a pale and wan Tina (already five months gone with Theseus' second child, and with their first still well under a year) before retreating to the privacy of their shared apartment.

 _You need a giver_ , she had once famously said, and he takes what she so freely offers until they are both wrung out and exhausted.

Fundamentally sated on a deep and primal level, Newt moves over her body to kiss the trim expanse beneath her navel as his spore seeps down her inner thigh. The smile she gives him is love and satisfaction and homecoming all in one, and he returns it without misgiving. He breathes in her scent while returning to her welcoming mouth and arms, and wonders if this is what true _joy_ feels like.

He doesn't know, but he thinks it may be close, and he falls asleep to his wife's voice, low in his ear as she murmurs her adoration.

* * *

"This is my fault," Tina says to him many months later.

She has an infant and a toddler in her care now, and her face is puffy with lack of sleep and...something else. Something that may be regret, or despair, or even some deeper, more profound emotion. Her eyes are inky pools sunk into bruised pits when she turns to him, and Newt wonders absently just how _often_ his brother is demanding her attention in bed.

He's careful to keep an arm's length between them now, unwilling to risk any temporary (tempting) closeness. She smiles at him when he doesn't respond, a brittle thing of spit-shiny teeth and glistening eyes, and he doesn't so much as blink when her lips curl into something closer to a sneer.

"I got impatient," she bites out, "and I didn't want to wait. I guess my husband is a good man, but he knew precisely what to do and say to convince me _away_ from you, and by the time I figured out that he wasn't what I wanted...it was too late." Her hands curl into helpless fists, and the infant in her arms whimpers before going still. She soothes it with an absent sort of maternal affection, mouth curving into an unhappy bow as she takes in her son's face.

She is bent under the weight of an emotion he cannot identify, and Newt finds himself longing to bridge the gap. "Tina," he begins awkwardly, "I don't know what you expect me to say." He runs a distracted hand through his hair before looking away. "You've made your choices, and so have I. There's nothing to be done for it."

"Do you ever wonder how things would be if you and I had...you know?" Tina asks in a colorless voice, and he manages to look her in the eye for the first time in years.

"Yes," he answers simply. "Every day. But you can't change what's been done, and I wouldn't trade my commitments for anything." He swallows, and it is very loud in the expectant silence of the room. "Not even you."

Tina chokes, eyes filling with expressive tears. "Don't I know it," she mutters unhappily and cradles her youngest sons head.

Newt looks at her before his mind inevitably turns to the woman in his bed—the one who'd begged off for the evening by claiming a light head and persistent nausea. They're both aware of what those symptoms portend. All he can do now is hope and pray to deities he does not quite believe in that his courage and resolve do not falter in the meantime.

"I should go," Tina says finally, when the silence has stretched out to the point of discomfort, and Newt nods without comment while dropping his gaze. She gathers her bags and her child and turns away, only to pause on the threshold.

"It should have been you," she allows, and her voice is a naked whisper. "I should have chosen you. I should have _waited_ , and for what it's worth...I'm so sorry, Newt. More than you'll ever know."

Newt swallows the sudden tears that clog his throat. "I'm sorry, too," he husks after a time. Tina nods as if this is what she expected, and take her leave. The door closes gently behind her, and he stares at it for a long, _long_ time, until his heart-rate slows and his breathing returns to normal.

"Goodbye, Tina," he whispers, and presses his fingers to his lips.

Then, feeling hollowed out and scraped clean by his newfound closure, he returns to his wife's side and the future she carries.

* * *

Thanks, as always, to Kemara24 for beta-reading and constant encouragement. Come shout at me on Tumblr katiehavok, if that's your thing.


End file.
